


Shipping costs

by Entomancy



Series: Divergence [5]
Category: The Yogscast
Genre: Cyborg Zoey, F/M, Gen, Magic-less Rythian, divergence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-04
Updated: 2014-09-04
Packaged: 2018-02-16 04:16:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2255559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Entomancy/pseuds/Entomancy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zoey and Rythian intercept a too-common Yoglabs shipment.  Refers quite strongly to 'A Kind of Magic'.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shipping costs

The city did not sleep. Perhaps it slowed a little as darkness fell, but that was more of a shift-change, a marker in the end-to-end stretch of days, rather than a requirement. White-bright lamps lined the main roads, throwing their uncompromising brightness up onto the clouds above, masking the glint of any stars that might hang above the bustling streets. Within buildings there was even less visible change, and the lights of offices and factories burned just as bright beneath the moon as the sun.

The city did not sleep, but there were places within it that at least managed a fitful doze. Outskirts; less-salubrious residential neighborhoods; backstreets and old remnants; forgotten places that had remained even through the most rigorous civic planning. Darkness crept down into these half-seen spaces, pooling in alleyways, and the night cast itself thick beneath chimney stacks and other jutting rooftop paraphernalia. Here, at the edge of the ever-watchful gaze of Lab-branded eyes – that had no need for sleep at all – here drew those who could feel the jaws of that edifice closing at their heels. The desperate, the dispossessed.

And those whose business kept the company of shadows.

Zoey hadn’t moved for nearly two hours. That would have bothered her once, and while she still felt the distinct fizz of that slightly-manic boredom that had driven her youth, those days seemed a very long way away now. After _that_ night, the failed assault and the horrible, technological fever-dream that had followed it; after the great, white-steel doors had sealed closed behind her and dragged her down into a very specific kind of hell. After they had escaped, against every conceivable odd, bloody and battered and so _changed_.

After all that, crouching on a rooftop since dusk was the easy part. She didn’t cramp. She didn’t tire merely from waiting.

She didn’t sleep, either. The thought was somehow uncomfortable, a niggling coil that worried away at the back of her mind, and she tried to ignore it as she sighted down the long, dull-blacked length of her sniper-rifle, propped firmly against the brickwork of her current perch. There were dockyards far below her; empty, right now, because while the city might ignore diurnal promptings, the dark waves that churned outside the harbour walls would not be tamed by lamps or caffeine. Well, perhaps it was not _entirely_ empty, and she squinted as a flicker of movement caught her enhanced vision, right at the shoreline. A low craft – dark and sleek against the water – was drawing into place in a sheltered corner.

“Head’s up, Romeo,” she muttered, pressing one finger into the side of her throat, feeling the little click and shiver as her comm came alive. “We got company.”

There was an answering click in her ear – her own compiece a little more _integral_ than that of others – and Rythian’s voice came through.

“About time. My ass is going to sleep.”

Zoey stifled a small giggle, despite the tension already rising as she watched the little shape dock.

“Get all your bits in gear, ninja-boy,” she replied. “They’re unloading, can’t see exactly what -”

“Who.” Rythian’s tone was suddenly sharp, and Zoey’s stomach lurched slightly at the sudden anger there. True, they had been tipped off – but there was always a _chance_ , right? Their info might have been wrong; it might just be a good ‘ol contraband run, all rum and ciggies and non-Lab chipsets.

Not people. Not another batch of fugitives or simply just plain unlucky souls, hunted down by the kind of scumbags that were willing to just – just _hand people over_ to that place, to whatever it wanted to do with them. To them. Zoey tried not to feel the little shifts of mechanisms as she moved slightly, as things adjusted under her too-smooth skin, and she blinked a few times as she tried to push the memories away. Pain, and disinfectant, and metal and fire in her blood, and the erasure countdown echoing through her repurposed mind…

_No._

“Still with me?” Rythian’s voice was lower, still angry but with concern layered through his words, and Zoey swallowed.

“Aye-aye. Got you covered. Nothing coming yet.”

Focusing on the task was good. She spared a quick scan down the connecting roads, the concrete arteries that led back into the well-lit parts of the city, but they were clear. Bit early for the delivery, it seemed. Punctuality wasn’t _always_ a virtue.

“Going in.”

Zoey looked back up. The boat had emptied now and she could see six figures in total; three huddled in the centre, against the ship’s hull, and three stood around them, guarding. She focused down the scope, lining up on the furthermost figure’s head. He was masked, helmeted, as they often were, and she let her crosshairs hover in the centre of his face for a few heartbeats; then dropped her aim. Even now, even after everything else and when she _knew_ , really knew, that what they were doing was right.

She'd never been much with the _dying_ , thing.

So she sighted on her target’s shoulder, just in case. Just in case...

She needn’t have worried. The group were clearly nervous and had covered a lot of approach angles, but _above_ hadn’t been much considered. None of them saw the cloaked shape detach from a pylon, dropping silently out of the shrouding shadows there. One went down before there was even chance to shout; the second following quickly as Rythian cut out their knees with a precise slice of his katars; and the third had time to take one very wide shot, before the matt-surfaced blades raked twin gouges down his arms, and he went down to a follow-up elbow in the throat.

She waited for a moment until Rythian gave her a clear as he sheathed his blades and moved in towards the shocked captives. She turned back to scan the approach roads, then hit her comm again urgently.

“Romeo, you got incoming. Two batches, east, coming up quick. Go.”

There was nothing she could really do from here, and _now_ Zoey jigged nervously as she watched Rythian chivvying his sudden-companions into the maze of containers and sheds that made up a good portion of the dock area. They had to make it across, out into the alleyways beyond and to the access point. Quickly. They had a head start, but the Labs-brand troops weren’t slow off the mark after they saw the mess at their own meeting point.

So she watched. Saw the three lighter-clad shapes from the boat, stumbling and slow and she didn’t like to think what might have happened to them _before_ they arrived here. Saw Rythian’s dark figure, moving like a shadow between the other shapes, dodging and weaving and keeping them hidden – but they were slow, much slower than the enhanced figures in pursuit, and Zoey’s arm _itched_ as she sighted down the scope.

She hated being spotter. They needed one, of course, but it was risky to bring someone else – exposed up on the rooftops, keeping yourself out of the sight of anything that might be looking. And she didn’t get sleepy, or need water – or other things, if she was being bluntly honest – and if she _needed_ to run, there weren’t many others in any of their groups that could keep up with her.

It was sensible. It was _logical_. And she hated it.

”Come on," she muttered, out into the darkness. It was difficult to follow the pathing through the docks, but she saw a pair of paler shapes pass through the half-hidden gap in the surrounding fence, scurrying out into the alleys, and she bit down on her lip.

The first round of gunfire was like a punch to the gut, and Zoey had to force herself to stay still, stay focused. This was the best coverage of the whole site she'd been able to find, so she had to keep it.

There was another round of fire, and Rythian's voice broke through again.

"Still up. She's taken one in the leg. Still up." His voice had that strained-flat tone, teeth audibly clenched, and Zoey swallowed hard. The pattern of pursuit had changed, the armoured figures converging now, even as she saw Rythian pass through the fence, a paler figure leaning heavily against him. She gritted her teeth, playing directions and angles in her head, watching the oncoming movements. Extrapolating.

“Romeo, they’re on your tail. Take a left when you can.”

“Still not actually my call sign," Rythian replied, grunting slightly as he did something at his end that she only hoped wasn't dodging.

“Your call sign is boring. Ender-boring. Take the left.”

The alleys were even more of a maze than the crates; figures dipped in and out behind walls, buildings, and Zoey mapped the glimpses. They must be close now. They _must_ be, because this was going to get attention and they were running out of time.

”Here." Rythian's voice was quick, urgent, and Zoey caught the sound of scraping metal. “Down here, we – _not that way!_ ” he broke off in a shout. There was more gunfire, delay-echoed down the comm and through the air, and Zoey craned her position. She couldn’t see the entrance from here – from anywhere, really, that was the whole _point_ – but now she wished she could.

“What’s happening?” she cut in, and received a hiss of frustration in reply.

“He’s bolted – you think I did _this_ to _myself?_ ” Rythian shouted, at someone else, and she could _see_ the gesture even without actual vision. He would have wrenched down his mask, to expose the scarred gullies around his mouth where a ragged ‘M’ had been cruelly carved into his flesh. Mage-marked. It generally served as a good indication to whose side they were on, even if Zoey saw the wince in his eyes every time, as people recoiled slightly from the mess.

“We don’t have _time_ for this!”

The gunfire and the lights of pursuit were so close now. So _close_ , and Zoey knew what they had to do. Had to before, too often; too many times. But there was no choice.

“Seal the hatch,” she said, sharply, as if that would disguise the shake in her voice, and tried to ignore the horrible twist of guilt that began to churn in her gut at the words. “They’re too close, you don’t have – ”

“Just a minute. Come on. Come on, I promise – I _promise_ – ” there was desperation in his voice now, and Zoey curled her fingers all the firmer around her sight, tracking the distant moving shapes. Still no good shots. Should have taken one earlier.

“Ry – Romeo, they're _right there._ It's too late, we can't lose y – that tunnel. Drop it now!”

A hiss of breath and static made her wince, and to her horror – but not entirely her surprise – she saw the edge of movement, darting back down the shielding alley. She scanned around, wishing she could see through bricks. Where the heck had that guy got to?

“He's taken cover,” Rythian muttered, and cursed into the channel. “This way! I'm over here!”

Armour-lights gleamed, seen through the cracks of a half-demolished wall, and Zoey's breath locked in her throat. Half a heartbeat more and they were going to _see_ him, and she still didn't have a _shot_ –

Gunfire bloomed again, accompanied by a guttural curse from Rythian that nearly stopped even her heart, and she fired anyway, the brilliant-bolt of each laser round splashing harmlessly against old bricks and blowing out dusty clouds. She ducked back, folding the scope down with an automatic numbness as she unhooked the rifle parts from her wrist and slipped them into her bag.

There was only static on the comm now. It was always static in the tunnels. Shielded and secret, and static-y – and now she had to wait, as she fastened her hand back into place and hurried away, swinging down from her temporary nest, lowering herself back down the sheer wall with fingers that clicked and whirred gently as they moved. The drones would check back along her line of fire, so she took her steps carefully; taking detours and strange shortcuts as often as she could, until she found the innocuous debris she was looking for and reached down, twisting a few pieces of broken tile that revolved with an oiled smoothness.

The hatch popped and Zoey dropped inside, pulling it closed behind her, and blinked as she felt her eyes shift mode in the darkness. The world flashed green, then pseudo-colour ran together as the night-sight system booted up, and she headed off at a jog down the sloping corridor, hunched under the dripping pipes and old cables that webbed the roof.

Sidestep, duck, two-three-four-step shuffle; she tapped and dipped her way through the trapways and tricks hidden along the slimy brickwork, automatic now as breathing should be. Good that it was, because she was trying very, very hard not to think. Thinking meant musing, thinking mean dwelling on shouts and gunfire, thinking meant _thinking_ the possibility and she couldn't.

It took a while to make her way through the winding network of tunnels that burrowed beneath the city – sewers once, now old, unwanted and utterly invaluable – and she started, surprised out of her deliberate half-tranced stupor as two smears of brightness appeared around a corner ahead of her, enhanced in her nightsight into green-edged ghosts, and her heart glitched a little.

 _Only two. No, no there had to be_ –

“Sixty-six percent.”

Zoey jerked around abruptly at the voice, raw relief riding roughshod over any other possible thought, as she finally caught Rythian's dark gaze, sunk back into a narrow alcove in the wall here. She ignored the two nearby figures – muttering softly to each other with the usual, familiar overtones of deliverance and disbelief – and blinked as she tried to see her partner a little better. He was so hidden, dark-clad and wearing an awful lot of dampeners as he always was, and finally she just held up her left arm and activated the torch there, spilling a soft light that burned like a flame in her vision now.

Rythian was watching her, tensely folded into himself, and gripping tightly onto his own elbows. His expression was difficult to see under the layered mask, but she knew what it would be.

“Two outa three ain't bad though,” she said, quietly. Rythian shook his head.

“It's not enough.”

“It's - “

“It's _never_ enough,” he continued the snarl, hunching even further back, and shook his head viciously. “What's the _point_ of us?”

This again. Zoey swung round, making sure that she was blocking the view of any curious eyes, and lowered her voice.

“We got out, Ryth. Anyone else we get, or stop them getting, is one less for that _place_.” Her fingers tightened on the surrounding brickwork as she spoke, and she tried not to notice as little flakes of breaking mortar crumbled away so easily under her augmented grip. She swallowed and carefully unlatched one hand, bringing it between them until the tiny lights along the wrist etched new shadows onto them both.

“Okay, so maybe not so much of _me_ actually got out,” she added, ruefully, and shook her head. “Sixty-six percent'd be an improvement, right?”

Rythian winced. His hunch relaxed a little as he reached out and caught onto her hand, squeezing gently, and the cyborg nerves delivered their precise sensations back up to her.

“You know that doesn't bother me,” he said, then stopped as a frown ran down his features. “I mean, that's not the point - ”

“I know.” Zoey dipped in, very quickly, and planted a kiss against his fabric-swathed cheek. “But you only cost me an arm. I'd pay a heck of a lot more.”

“Zoey,” Rythian started, stopped again, and sighed. “We can’t stay here. I don’t think we were seen heading down, but – ”

“Better safe than lab rats. I mean, we’re in a sewer, so I guess _rats_ is okay,” Zoey said, lightly. “Just, y’know. Sewer rats.”

“...right.” Rythian gave her hand one more squeeze, and she moved aside to let him pry himself out of the brooding-brickwork. Two very wide pairs of eyes were turned to meet her, and she set her expression to the friendliest smile she could manage, given circumstances.

“So – hello! I’m Zoey. Er, gosh, I bet this has been a really weird sorta day for you?” The usual speech slotted into place automatically as she stepped forward, trying not to loom. Behind her, there was the faint scrape of soft boots as Rythian dropped into a shadowy flank, glowering around at the air as they moved off.

He was right, though. They had to do more. They were picking at the edges, stealing a few people and shipments away here and there – and they were getting real _good_ at it, but it wasn’t enough. They needed… something. Something to give them an edge; something that would really make a dent, get people thinking that maybe that white-steel monstrosity wasn’t immortal after all.

They needed a way to _hurt_ it.

-


End file.
